Finding Pride
The Process of Becoming
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
I lost my mother early on in life. I was the oldest of four children she and my father had created together. Of those four, I was the only daughter born. Memories of our time together are scarce and, for the most part, pretty hard to recall. I can only vaguely remember my mother playing her guitar and singing with me as a toddler. Old photographs portray bath time smiles, but I cannot honestly say that I remember my mother tossing a big fluffy towel over my tangled wet hair the way the photos show. I do remember, however, that her hair was never tangled like mine. It is the simple things like this that I am most able to remember.
I can recall things like riding in the front of the shopping cart at the local supermarket and sitting on my knees so I could reach the kitchen table from the Naugahyde seat of a big people chair. The memories that stand out the loudest, however, are not this simple. The memories of my mother that are most vividly recalled are those that my father helped create. Listening from down the block as my mother screamed through tears for neighbors to call the police can sometimes appear to be just as real today as they were back then.
Threats, harassment, and violence were common occurrences in my early childhood home. Maybe my parents did not realize what they were doing to us. Maybe they did not understand that children soak up everything like sponges. Maybe they did not realize that by their leading we would follow. No matter the maybes, my parents' behavior did indeed pave the way for my own lifelong struggle to find some sense of normalcy.
I believe I was approximately five years old when my mother vanished from the pages of my life story. This approximation is the result of simple mathematics, not remembered certainty. I was born in October 1975, and my then-youngest brother was born in the summer of 1980. My mother had taken my brother and refused to return him home for quite some time. This kidnapping of sorts had become a huge ordeal for our family. I cannot remember which months he was gone exactly, but I can remember that he was still an infant and my family skipped Christmas that year. My father determined that my remaining brothers and I would not be opening our Christmas gifts until my mother brought the youngest of my brothers back home to him.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
Abandoned. Rejected. Ridiculed. Humiliated. I was a glutton for punishment, it seems. Each time I was hurt, I moved right on to the next source of pain. Whether it was the consequence of someone else’s actions or a byproduct of my own, pain seemed to find me even when I was not seeking it. With my focus on pain relief and nothing more, I made one wrong decision after the next … until I changed my focus.
About the Author
A high school dropout at the age of sixteen, Hilda Kaphar now holds four college degrees—an associate of the arts degree in psychology, a bachelor of the arts degree in social science, a master of the arts degree in education, family and community services, and a master of the arts degree in organizational management.
The concepts learned while pursuing these degrees, in conjunction with courses taken in early childhood development, have added meaning to the lessons life itself has taught her. It was through these lessons that Hilda was able to find her greatest source of strength, and her growing understanding of Scripture only strengthens her further.
As Hilda has come into clearer understanding, she has determined that helping others achieve their own best lives is where she finds her calling. Hilda believes that the best life can only be obtained when one learns how to incorporate biblical standards for living into every facet of everyday life.